


Something Wicked

by exquisitelymorose



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I had to do it to em ya know, Sexual Tension, goodbye and goodnight, they're gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisitelymorose/pseuds/exquisitelymorose
Summary: The belief that demons can’t feel is a foolish one. Madam Satan, parading around in the skin of Mary Wardwell, she feels. She absolutely feels. But it’s not the same. There is no love and affection boiling underneath her false skin but a lust. The desire to possess, to consume, to devour.





	Something Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Mary has so many names & I used them all. Your comments are my life blood. Leave them for more & give me your suggestions.

As the sun goes down and the moon creeps in, Zelda allows herself to be consumed with thought. She watches, idly, as the smoke from her shallow drags drifts from her lips and into the cool air of the evening. The house had fallen silent with Hilda at work, Sabrina out with her mortal friends and Ambrose tucked away quietly in the morgue. It leaves too much room, she thinks, for notions to run wild through her mind without someone or something there to distract her. She sighs, wondering how she’d gotten herself to a point where she wishes for disaster more than she wishes for a moment alone.

Settling her hands determinedly in her lap, she commits herself to the drifting thought of Mary Wardwell. Perhaps if she gives her the focus she’s been so desperately avoiding, she’ll be able to work through it. The skin of her lip feels tender between her teeth but she can hardly loosen her jaw for whenever her mind conjures an image of that woman she can’t help curb her self-scolding. This is an unfortunate state of affairs, indeed.

Sixteen years in and amongst 671 is nothing at all. Truly, nothing more than a blink. But it had left her unpracticed and out of sorts. She thinks back to the days when Sabrina was just a babe. Things had been so fraught, tedious and exhausting. There was no room for anything else. There were days where Zelda had felt that she was barely breathing. More days than she cares to admit. So when people passed through her life, enigmatic warlocks and enticing witches, she’d spared them nothing more than a glance. She had the mortuary, she had Sabrina, Ambrose and Hilda, she simply had no more to give. And somewhere along the way she’d lost the ability to take.

And no, it isn’t that she’s a woman. The concept to Zelda is laughable. She’d lived through every phase of the sexual revolution, as repressed as she may seem, her sexual appetite knows no bounds. After 6 centuries there is little left to have reservations about and gender had fallen from that list many, many moons ago. It’s something else. A feeling. Call it witches intuition but something is off about the alluring Ms. Wardwell. And Zelda has been trying her damndest, as hard as it may be, to allow Sabrina the room to grow, to fall and fail. Concerning herself in every aspect of her niece’s life had only proved to make things worse. Tempting as it is, throwing herself at Mary would be to throw herself at the person Edward had chosen as Sabrina’s protector. And that, Zelda thinks, is not her place.

When Madam Satan thinks about Zelda, it’s different. The sun goes down, the moon creeps up and she finds herself with a glass of wine nearly as full as her mind. She pulls her lip between her teeth and thinks of that woman. Absolutely delicious. Divine. Zelda, Zelda, Zelda, so tightly wound and disciplined. A true woman of Satan. What she wouldn’t give to see her come undone underneath her, her wicked lips and sinful hands.

The belief that demons can’t feel is a foolish one. Madam Satan, parading around in the skin of Mary Wardwell, she feels. She absolutely feels. But it’s not the same. There is no love and affection boiling underneath her false skin but a lust. The desire to possess, to consume, to devour. Mortals, even witches and warlocks can burn themselves up from within and drive themselves absolutely mad over the idea of love. People have flung themselves from bridges, drank poisons and spent full days emptying the tears from their eyes and all for what? A tenderness, a fondness? Lilith could laugh. She had none of that. Only a deep want, a need.

But she exists, first and foremost, to serve at the hand of the Dark Lord. And to pursue Zelda, even just to satisfy the most carnal of desires could have a deleterious effect on her current undertaking with Sabrina. But as the red wine passes through her lips, she quirks an eyebrow and allows herself for just a moment to consider what it would be like with the poised redhead if she wasn’t in some ways forbidden. 

Perhaps, she smirks, that is the true allure.

She is caught in the thought of running a manicured nail from Zelda’s knee, to the inside of her thigh when knuckles against the wood of her door breaks the silence. A sigh breaks from her chest. Though she hopes its Sabrina, needing to put more of her plan in to action, she has to admit these days can be exhausting. The mortal body is a weary one and she wants nothing more than to finish the bottle on the table and slip into the cool sheets of Mary Wardwell’s bed.

Her mind changes as she clicks the lock and opens the door to the dark night. She must admit that she’s shocked to find not the youngest Spellman but the oldest stood on her door step.

“Zelda?”

“Mary.”

“To what do I owe the honour?”

“May I?” one delicate eyebrow rises as the red head just  
barely nods over the other woman’s shoulder.

“Absolutely.”

Mary steps aside, lips curling up at the side as she holds the door open for the other woman.

The home is quaint and cozy, a fire crackling, the lights low. Zelda is instantly warmed, in her skin and between her thighs. This is undoubtedly, on Satan’s name, an astronomical mistake.

“Would you care for a drink?”

Zelda turns on her heel and finds Mary stood, hand on her cocked hip, leaning against a large arm chair. Exquisite. She’s tempted to say no, besides her mouth is already watering but she’s already three scotch deep, no use in stopping now.

“That would be divine.”

Mary motions for Zelda to sit in the overstuffed arm chair across from hers as she disappears to find another glass. Just as she’s settling, swallowing down her nerves and questioning everything, an arm appears from over her shoulder, a full glass of wine in Mary’s hand.

“Cabernet Sauvignon. Hope you don’t mind,” her words are smooth like the red in the glass and Zelda can’t tear her eyes away as the other woman takes her seat and crosses her legs.

Lilith notices it. How can’t she? This is what she is made for. Her energy exudes sensuality, her truest power the art of seduction. When Madam Satan crosses her legs, it’s not just that, no. It’s a performance. The woman across from her takes a sip from her glass and surveys the room before meeting her eyes.

“This is lovely.”

The brunette simply smiles in agreement and leans forward a little, “what brings you to my neck of the woods tonight, Zelda?”

“Well,” the other woman swallows thickly before setting her eyes straight, bold. Oh, yes, she likes that. “I wanted to see you.”

“While it’s always a delight to see you but I must ask, is this about Sabrina?”

“No,” she says almost too quickly, red hair shaking over her shoulders, “in fact, Sabrina mustn’t ever find out about this.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m simply here for a personal matter,” Zelda sets the glass gently on a small rounded table and leans forward a little herself, running fingers down the neck line of her dress, “this concerns only the two of us.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“I believe you know why I’m here, Mary.”

“I believe a may.”

A beat passes between them, neither one surrendering, eyes steady and constant. 

“Are you just going to sit there?” Zelda's voice comes with a biting annoyance that clips the air. 

“I think I’d like to hear you say it.”

Ah, a challenge. 

“Say what?”

“That you want me.”

Zelda swallows. Of course thats true, of course thats why she is here but the words would burn her tongue. She is not someone who so easily submits to anothers will. 

“I certainly will not.”

“Even if you believe it?”

“Especially then.”

It’s a wonder that the wine somehow remains inside its glass confines, never a drop spilling into the air as they both rise from their chairs, quick and heated. Somehow they meet in the middle and as their mouths meld, they find themselves melted into the floor. Zelda doesn’t usually like her back pressing against the floor, the bed, the wall, she likes control. But this, this is okay. Their mouths are fiery, teeth nipping, breath panting despite their best efforts. Marys hand is grasping one of her thighs, and one of her hips so harshly she thinks it may bruise. She prays to Satan that it does. A sound leaves the back of her throat as Marys thigh presses insistently between her legs. 

For Satan’s sake this is a horrid idea. But fuck does it feel divine.


End file.
